


Halloween

by GravityCanFly



Series: Cabin Pressure [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Domestic, Gen, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:26:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GravityCanFly/pseuds/GravityCanFly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For letscreatecabinpressure October '13, Arthur throws a little party. </p><p>Herc is a flirt, Martin is astonished by Douglas's aim and Arthur is clumsy when he's excited. Fluffy fluffy fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a fic that follows directly on from this soon. Part of the same set of work as Dinner. Not beta'd or anything. Typos entirely my own...

“Alright you two, hold it.” Carolyn snapped at her pilots as they headed for their cars. They turned to face her. “As you are no doubt aware, it is Halloween on Thursday.” 

“Oh god,” Douglas murmured.

“What?” Martin put in, confused.

“You've been lucky, Martin – though you may not have felt it - that on every previous Halloween you have been with us, we have been flying.” 

“Why?”

“Because, and Carolyn will confirm this, if we are not, Arthur insists that we go round to Carolyn's house for jelly and ice cream. _In costume_.”

“That's right.” Carolyn reasserted herself as part of the conversation. “So you are invited – and I use the word here to mean commanded – to come to my house at two o'clock on Thursday. As Douglas says, _in costume_.” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Though if you're anything like me you'll find a way to dress as a character who looks and dresses exactly like you would ordinarily choose to.” With that Carolyn stalked back to the portakabin.

“I see why everyone was so keen to take that job to Aberdeen last year.” 

“Quite. Didn't save us altogether though, did it? He still hid rubber spiders in the flight deck.” Douglas grinned. “As you discovered, Captain.”

“They were very realistic.” Martin sniffed. “So what kind of costumes do you use?” 

“Well, one year I went in my uniform.”

“What did Arthur think of that?”

“He was upset, for a while. But then he decided that it was _brilliant_. Since then I've taken to putting on a nice suit and making a name up. The thing is, he's so unlikely to catch on that it almost feels cruel now.”

“What will you do this year, then?” 

“Oh, I don't know. Splash some cranberry juice on my shirt and call myself a vampire?”

“Maybe we could coordinate costumes?” 

“I don't think so, Martin.” 

-

The kitchen door started to creak cautiously open.

“Arthur darling, may I come in?”

“No! No! No!” Arthur squealed. “Not yet! It's not ready!”

Carolyn rolled her eyes. “I just want to make a cup of tea.”

“No!” Arthur repeated. “You mustn't see it until it's ready!”

“Okay dear,” Carolyn replied with well-practiced patience. “In that case could you make Herc and I some tea and bring it to us?”

“Hm. Well. Okay,” Arthur called back. “But it'll be a minute because I've got to try and stick this cobweb up and it keeps falling down!” 

Carolyn rolled her eyes again, thinking to herself that she must have the strongest eye-rolling muscles of anyone in the world, and wondering if there was some kind of award for that. She padded back up the stairs and into her bedroom, where Herc was reading the paper. He looked at her over the top of his spectacles.

“He's going to bring the tea up for us. Apparently we mustn't see the kitchen.”

“The preparations for a Halloween party are of grave importance,” Herc said with a smirk. “If you get it wrong all hell could break loose.”

“Yes, thank you.” Carolyn rolled her eyes, yet again, and climbed into the bed. “You really must stop encouraging him.”

“Really, Carolyn, I'm sure Arthur is well beyond being influenced either way. We may as well enjoy these things with him.”

“Hmm. On your head be it.”

Herc rolled his eyes then. “Anyway, darling,” he purred, turning towards Carolyn. “If Arthur won't let us downstairs, we may as well enjoy ourselves up here...” He reached a hand across and slipped it against her waist.

“Hercules Shipwright! My son will be up here at any moment.”

“He's an adult, he'll understand...”

“Behave yourself.” Carolyn admonished. “Behave!” She rolled up the newspaper and held it in front of his face as a threat. 

-

“Douglas is here! Douglas is here!” Arthur's voice filled the house like a klaxon. He bounced to the front door and threw it open. “Hello Douglas!”

“Good lord!” Douglas exclaimed. “Are you... a puppy?”

“No!” said Arthur, sounding hurt. “I'm a wolf!”

“Really, Arthur? Do wolves usually have floppy ears?”

“Come on, let Douglas in, Arthur. You're letting all the warm air out.” Carolyn bustled down the stairs, pulling on a large black cone-shaped hat.

“Well, Carolyn. Playing a witch, I see. Not much of a departure from the norm for you, is it?” Douglas smirked.

“Oh shut up, you. I see you've worn your usual 'off-duty pilot who thinks he's too good for all this' costume.”

“No, actually I'm- Oh, sorry, yes, that's exactly what I am.”

“Awwh, Douglas. That's not playing the game!” Arthur's crestfallen expression went so perfectly with his sandy-coloured floppy 'wolf' ears that it was all Douglas could do to stifle a laugh. 

“Hello, Douglas,” Herc's voice came from the stairs. He stepped into view, his hair unusually black and slicked back with what appeared to be copious amounts of brylcreem. He wore a tuxedo with a black shirt and quite a lot of make up. He smiled, revealing the points of a pair of novelty fangs.

“Oh, terrific, you're here.” 

“Of course he's here! He and mum are-” Arthur stopped in his tracks as Carolyn glared at him. “Friends. He and mum are friends. It's nice to have friends. I wanted to have friends here. Friends!”

“Yes, Arthur. That'll convince everyone.” 

“Arthur, would you like to show us what you've done with the kitchen?” Carolyn interjected, keen to change the subject.

“Yeah!” Arthur's eyes lit up. “Come on, come and see!” He danced down the hallway and into the kitchen, the others following.

“Good lord,” Douglas's voice came from the back of the group. 

“It certainly is... impressive,” Carolyn added, with a slight waver to her voice.

“How did you hang the cobwebs in the end, Arthur?” Herc asked.

“Oh, I stapled them! Yeah, I tried blu-tack and sellotape and pritt stick but in the end the staples worked best.”

“You... _stapled_... _cobwebs_... to **my kitchen units**?” Carolyn exploded.

At that moment, the doorbell rang. “I'll get that,” Douglas volunteered, eager to escape. “You all just stay there.”

-

“Hello, Douglas. Nice... costume.” 

“Come in, Martin.” Douglas stood aside. “What are you dressed as? Frosty the snowman?”

“Ah, no,” Martin said, pulling of his hat, then his scarf, coat and gloves. “It's so cold in my attic, I've basically been living in this stuff.” 

“It's only October. How many layers are you going to wear in January?” 

“Is it considered impolite to leave the house wrapped in a sleeping bag?”

“For god's sake Martin, you're still shivering.” Douglas grabbed the younger man's white hand. “You're freezing. Come on, get Arthur to get you a cup of tea.” 

Douglas steered Martin into the kitchen, where Herc and Carolyn stood with a slightly subdued Arthur, who almost looked like he might have been crying. 

“It's alright, Arthur, it'll fix.” Herc was saying. He turned to Carolyn and hissed: “Leave it, he has guests.” Carolyn held up her hands as if in surrender, and turned to the pilots. Before she could speak, Douglas was issuing orders.

“Arthur, cups of tea all round please.” 

“But, I thought we should all have some special Halloween punch!” Arthur enthused, indicating the large bowl of suspiciously brightly coloured liquid sitting on the table.

“Ah... I'm sure we'd all like to try that a bit later,” Douglas purred, “but tea first, if you don't mind.” 

Arthur obliged, putting on the kettle and locating teapots. “I love your outfit, Skip!” 

“I... I'm not dressed up, Arthur.”

“Oh,” Arthur's face fell. “Well, it's just a nice outfit...”

“Thank you...” 

Arthur set the teapot on the table, along with five cups and saucers. Miraculously all the china made it to the table without breaking. 

“Shall I be mother?” Douglas asked, adopting his most sincere expression.

“I'm not sure, Douglas, but can you pour the tea?” Herc smirked. 

“Oh ha-ha, _Captain Orlok_.”

Douglas poured the tea, and handed the cups round the table.

“Ah, Douglas, I take sugar,” Herc piped up.

“I _don't_ think so, Hercules.” Douglas narrowed his eyes at the heavily made-up man leaving lipstick marks on the china.

“But you gave Arthur sugar!”

“I did, didn't I? Mystery of mysteries.” Douglas said mildly.

“This is the weirdest pissing contest I have ever seen.” Martin looked between the two men, each of them practicing their hardest stare on the other.

“Cower in the presence of Douglas, keeper of the sugar,” Carolyn muttered. She nudged Herc in the ribs and shook her head slightly. He gave a little nod back and turned to Arthur.

“So, what festivities have you lined up for us, Arthur dear boy?”

-

“I do not want to bob for apples.” Douglas's smooth purr began to sound slightly sinister.

“I don't want to bob for apples.” Carolyn agreed. 

“I'll confess that I'm not keen on the idea of bobbing for apples.” Herc chipped in. Arthur turned to Martin with an eager, pleading look on his face.

“Sorry Arthur.” 

Arthur stuck out his bottom lip and furrowed his brow for a moment. Then, he grinned. “Pin the tail on the devil!” 

There was a collective groan.

“Can't we?”

“Yes, alright. We'll pin the tail on the devil.” Carolyn agreed. “Go fetch the devil.” 

Arthur grinned and sprinted out of the room and up the stairs. 

“When Arthur was a child, did you ever wonder what he would be like when he grew up?” Douglas asked.

“Okay guys!” Arthur flew back into the room, skidding to a stop on the carpet. He held up a large drawing of a devil, and a tail fashioned from a shoelace.

“You drew that, did you?” Douglas drawled.

“Yeah, what do you think?” 

“I think it's rather good,” Martin interrupted. “Very... abstract.” 

“Thanks Skip!” Arthur firmly blu-tacked the devil to the far wall. “Okay, Douglas, you first.” 

Douglas stood and walked over to Arthur. Arthur produced a scarf from his pocket and tied it round Douglas's eyes. He placed the 'tail' into the older man's hand. 

“Okay Douglas, I'm going to turn you round and point you at the devil. Then you go and stick the tail on!”

“Yes, thank you Arthur, I'm aware of how the game works.” 

Douglas obediently turned through 360 degrees, Arthur guiding him with his hands.

“Okay, go!” He said, letting go of Douglas's arms.

Douglas took a breath, stored his dignity carefully in a box in the back of his mind, and stepped forward. “If one of you tries to trip me up I will tear your throat out with my teeth,” he shouted. Herc skulked back to his seat. Douglas kept walking forward until he found the wall. He felt around the paper on the wall, and stuck the tail approximately in the middle.

“You're kidding! You can see!” Martin's voice cut through the air. 

“No I can't! I can't see anything!” Douglas cried. 

“I'll tell you if he can see,” Carolyn put in, her voice stern. A moment passed. “No, he can't see.” 

“I told you!” Douglas pulled on the scarf. “Can I get this off now?” Arthur untied the scarf, and Douglas blinked in the light of the room.

“How did you do that? How did you _do that_?” Martin demanded.

“I don't know. Don't look at me like that, Martin. I got lucky at _Pin the Tail On the Devil_. It's really not worth getting excited about.”

“I don't think it's worth anyone else playing now.” Martin grumbled.

“Oh _really_ , Martin.” 

-

“Now, you needn't worry, _I_ prepared the food.” Carolyn announced, as she pulled dishes out of the fridge and laid them out on the table.

“I helped!” Arthur interjected.

“Arthur helped in a purely advisory capacity. I chose to ignore his advice when necessary to preserve the edibility of the food.”

“Most of the time then,” Douglas's voice came.

“Thank you, Carolyn. This looks wonderful.” Herc smiled at Carolyn over a pile of finger sandwiches.

“Psh,” Douglas grumbled, reaching for a scotch egg. 

Martin looked across at him. “Why does he annoy you so much?”

Douglas narrowed his eyes at his young captain. “The question is, why doesn't he annoy you?”

Martin shook his head, and set about piling food onto his plate. 

-

“Arthur! Put that down!”

“No, throw it, throw it!”

“I _told_ you not to encourage him! Put that down before you hurt someone!”

“OW!”

“Oh _Arthur._ ”

“I only hurt myself,” Arthur sniffed, one hand to his reddening cheek. 

“Come here, let me have a look, Arthur.” Herc reached a hand out to Arthur, who moped over to him. Herc pulled Arthur's hand away from his cheek and pressed gently around the lump already developing over the cheekbone. “You're okay. Get some ice for the swelling.”

“Well,” Douglas muttered to Martin, “I think this is our cue to leave.”

“Probably right.” Martin agreed.

-

“We'll see you on Saturday then,” Douglas called over his shoulder, as Herc assured Arthur that his face was not permanently damaged and Carolyn set about tearing down the decorations.

“Is this always what it's like?” Martin muttered.

“You remember 'Summer Christmas'?” 

“I... I assumed at the time that wasn't normal.”

Douglas gave Martin a long sardonic look, until the young captain broke into laughter.

“Shh,” Martin whispered, opening the front door. “If Carolyn hears us she'll have our heads.” The two men stumbled outside, still giggling.

“It's cold tonight,” Douglas remarked, looking up at the sky, already dark and shining with stars at six o'clock. Martin pulled his coat tighter around his frame and hugged it against himself. Douglas watched him. “No heating in your attic at all?”

Martin shook his head. “No insulation either.”

They stood like that for a moment, Douglas feeling the cold air against his face, the wind blowing in his hair. He watched Martin as he pulled on his clothes, noted the deepening furrow between his eyebrows as the wind got up. Douglas sighed.

“You can't stay there.”

“I don't have a lot of choice, Douglas.”

“You'll get ill.”

“What do you propose?” Martin's voice rose almost to a shout. He glared at his friend, feeling his heart rate increase. 

“Move in with me.” Douglas said simply. 

Martin's jaw dropped. All the worry that had been on his face a moment before vanished, replaced by a look of complete astonishment. “What?” 

“I've got a spare room. There's plenty of space.” Douglas shrugged. “If you freeze to death in that attic I might have a little trouble sleeping.” He paused. “Plus I'd be out of a job.”

“Okay... Okay.” Martin gave the widest smile Douglas had ever seen of him. “Thanks.”

“Don't mention it.” 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin reads some poetry and Douglas speaks without thinking.  
> This is what happens immediately after the Halloween party.

 

Martin followed Douglas down the hall and followed him through the door at the bottom of the stairs. 

“I hope this will be to Sir's satisfaction.” 

Martin looked around the room, taking in the impeccable décor. He ran a hand across the leather top of the desk in the corner. He nodded. “I don't need... I mean... a smaller room would...” 

“I'm sure it would,” Douglas said, “but this one comes with its own bathroom and I do not wish to share.” 

Martin nodded again, his hand still resting on the soft leather of the desk. “This desk is lovely.”

 “It was made for my grandfather, I believe.”

 Martin raised his eyebrows slightly in an expression of being impressed. Douglas glanced at the floor, suddenly very aware of the gaping chasm of difference between his and Martin's lives.

 Martin sensed Douglas's discomfort and spoke, desperate to keep the mood light, so Douglas wouldn't change his mind, “I'm surprised this room is a bedroom.”

 “It would have been the kitchen originally.”

 “Yes, I had guessed that was an extension. Did you...?”

 “Oh, no. It's been that way for a long time. This was the dining room then, I suppose. The people who lived here before us put the bathroom in and made it a bedroom.” He paused, wondering why they were having such a banal middle-class conversation. “They had a daughter who was disabled. Couldn't do stairs.”

 Martin nodded. “It's quite nice, isn't it?”

 “Helena and I thought so.”

 An uncomfortable silence descended on the room, each man wondering if they or the other had made a terrible mistake. Douglas cleared his throat.

 “I can find space somewhere else for some of the books, so you have more space,” he offered.

 “Oh, thank you. If you're sure.”

 “Of course,” Douglas cleared his throat and looked his captain in the eye. “It's your room now.”

 -

 Martin dropped his bag on the floor, looking round his new lodgings. He hadn't expected this. He had expected to be crammed into a back bedroom. He would have been happy with that. Douglas's back bedroom was probably palatial compared to what he was used to – this was a whole other level. The one wall was taken up by a large window, not quite floor-to-ceiling, a feature of the mid-century house. Beside the desk stood two enormous dark wood bookcases, filling the rest of the wall. He scanned the titles. Poetry by people he had never heard of. Plays by people he might have heard of once, a long time ago, when listening to radio 4. Then the obvious: Shakespeare, Dickens, Chaucer, Miller, Frayn. In anyone else's house Martin would have thought this collection pretentious, but he knew that Douglas would have read every word. He could probably quote from every book on the shelf. Martin chuckled to himself. He was half-tempted to test that out. He noticed a thin book laying horizontal across the tops of a few others, as if it had been read and replaced but not properly filed. He pulled it out and opened it to a random page,

  _30_  
the sky has nothing to say  
and the scaffoldings are full of dead birds  
the moon has passed away  
and the wind has tears in its eyes  
now even the policemen have gone home  
and scattered like memories old and worn  
the litter  
has  
inherited  
the dawn

  _31_  
sitting alone  
with my bottle of sauce  
KNOCK KNOCK  
'who's there?'  
noone, of course

 Martin stared at the words, suddenly feeling as if he had stumbled upon something deeply personal. He closed the book and slipped it back onto the shelf where he had found it. It occurred to him that perhaps Douglas hadn't merely been being polite when he had offered to clear out the books. He sat on the bed, acutely aware that he was in someone else's home. That he was in Douglas's home. He realised how little he really knew Douglas, despite having sat on his left-hand side for six years as his captain. He knew Douglas was a father, had been a husband several times over, had had cause to stop drinking and never take it up again... But he didn't really _know Douglas_. He knew he was intelligent, well-educated. He knew he possessed a sharper wit than anyone else he had known. He knew he was self-assured, even arrogant, and he had an inkling that it was an act. That was all he had, though - the knowledge that not everything went right for Douglas, and that Douglas wanted the outside world to believe that it did. He sighed, wondering if he had made a mistake in coming here. Wondering if Douglas could really stand to have him in his inner sanctum. Wondering if he would ever see Douglas without wondering.

 He sighed, trying to put all such thoughts out of his mind. Douglas was an enigma. It was probably safer for everyone if he stayed that way.

 He heard the sound of Douglas's piano fill the house, accompanied by his low rumbling voice. _In Dublin's fair city, where the girls are so pretty..._ Martin grinned, remembering the flight they had once taken to Dublin whereupon Douglas had somehow ended up serenading ATC with this song.

 -

 Douglas was reading the newspaper over his muesli when Martin emerged the next morning.

 “Morning,” Douglas greeted him.

 “Morning,” Martin said with a smile, looking around the kitchen.

 “There's coffee in the pot,” Douglas said through a mouthful of Alpen, “cereal in the near cupboard, bread on the counter. Help yourself.”

 Martin slipped two slices of bread into the toaster, poured himself a cup of coffee and began rifling through the cupboards.

 “What are you after?” Douglas asked, after watching him for a minute.

 “Marmite?”

 “Oh, _Martin_ , no.”

 “No?”

 “No.”

 “But it's delicious,” Martin protested.

 “No,” Douglas repeated, with a hint of a smirk, “it is not.”

 “I suppose we shall have to agree to differ.”

 “Fraught with difficulty, this living together business.”

 Martin watched Douglas carefully as he took his coffee and toast to the table. “Do you regret asking me?” he asked eventually.

 “Not at all, Martin.” Douglas looked up from his paper and met the younger man's eye. “I can cope with having Marmite in the house.”

 There was a pause, as Martin thought _that's not what I meant_ and it occurred to him that it probably wasn't what Douglas meant either. They ate their breakfasts in silence.

 “Is the room okay?”

 Martin nodded. “I don't know when I've slept so well.”

 Douglas grunted, his eyes back on the paper. Martin shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

 “I'll go and get my things today.”

 Douglas nodded. There was silence. “I'd love to help Martin, but my back...”

 “No! No, I'll be fine.” Martin interrupted. “It's what I do,” he added quietly.

 “I'm sure Arthur would help if you asked him.”

 “I'll be fine,” Martin repeated. There was another pause. “Is there anything I should know?”

 “Not really.” Douglas closed the paper and folded it. He looked up at Martin, looked him straight in the eye and said, “There is one rule: Do not. Touch. My piano.”

 Martin was taken aback, stammered out an agreement, and then caught the glint in Douglas's eye. He smiled. “Understood. The piano is out of bounds.”

 “Then we shall get on famously,” Douglas said as he stood. “I'll run into town this morning and get a key cut.”

 -

 Douglas was in his study when Martin returned that afternoon. He heard the van pull into the driveway and went and opened the front door wide, returning to his stocks and shares as the younger man lugged boxes back and forth.

 “What did your house mates say?” He leant against the doorframe of Martin's room, watching the young man as he sat helplessly looking between the boxes.

 “Hm?” Martin turned to face him. “Oh, no one was there.”

 “You haven't told them?”

 “No,” Martin shook his head.

 “ _Martin_ ,” Douglas almost scolded. “You didn't even leave a note?”

 Martin shook his head, looking sheepish. “I'll go back this evening and say goodbye.”

 Douglas nodded. “Do you want some help unpacking?”

 “Sure, thanks,” Martin smiled.

 Douglas settled himself on the end of the bed and began opening the boxes nearest to him. He laughed as he opened one box. He began pulling books out and scattering them across the bed.

 “The entire collection. You have the _entire collection_.”

 “What's that?” Martin stood and looked round, seeing Douglas sat on the bed surrounded by his Biggles books.

 “I shouldn't be surprised, should I?” Douglas grinned, picking up one of the books and flipping it open.

 “Not really,” Martin sniffed. “Didn't you read them?”

 “Well, I had _some_.” Douglas laughed again. Then he took in the hurt look on Martin's face. “Here,” he stood and stepped over to the book case. “We'll clear these shelves and they can go in pride of place.” He started pulling his books down and piling them on the old desk. Martin watched as he replaced the neat, well-cared for books with his tatty old paperbacks. Soon the Biggles volumes were lined up in order on their own shelf. Douglas looked across at Martin, who was still stood in silence. He sighed. “I'm sorry, Martin. It's nice that you still have them.”

 Martin nodded, and turned back to the box he had been working on. Douglas sighed again. He wasn't sure how to deal with this situation.

 “Alright if I set my computer up in here?” Martin asked, kneeling in front of the ancient machine.

 “Of course. It's your room, Martin, to do what you like with.”

 Martin nodded. Douglas watched him for a moment, but it was clear he wasn't going to be making conversation. Why had he teased him about his blasted books? Why was he so bloody sensitive? He sighed. “I'll get rid of these books, then,” he said, taking hold of some of his usurped books. He left the room in silence.

 -

 “So you two are living together now?” Carolyn asked, incredulously.

 “It seems that way,” Douglas replied.

 “Wow! That sounds so much fun!” Arthur enthused.

 “Does it, Arthur?”

 “Yeah! Do you stay up late and drink hot chocolate and talk?”

 “No, we do not do that,” Douglas said flatly. “We are two grown men living in a house, not teenagers at a pyjama party.”

 “Nothing's changed, really,” Martin interrupted. “I'm just living in Douglas's bedroom now.”

 “You're what?” Carolyn laughed.

 “Yes, Martin, you're what?” Douglas turned to face the young captain, an eyebrow raised.

 “I – I mean I'm living in Douglas's _spare_ bedroom.”

 “It's as well to be clear about that.”

  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poetry quoted in this chapter is from Summer With Monika by Roger McGough. It tells the story of a relationship - from the exciting beginning through the mutual affection and into the break up and the despair that follows. Knowing what we do about Douglas's relationships it feels apt. It's also a really wonderful collection of poems.


End file.
